Maria Pellegrini, who also writes under the pen-name Lavirrealista, has been an indie publisher since 2010 exploring on the theme of technology and society of the future. “Virrealism” is the underlying concept of her work, it transforms reality into virtuality and vice versa thus taking us well beyond virtual reality. She has now written two books (Real Virtualites 2011, Change of State - First Phase 2016) and six short stories. Five of them have also been collected into a single volume, Tales from the Mother Galaxy (2003), and each of them look at different aspects of possible future technological development. The sixth story, Accidental Warrior written later in 2004, is the prequel to her last novel.

Trained as a geologist and environmental scientist, she specialised in GIS technology and worked for many years in the industry, later becoming editor in chief of a technical magazine. Her scientific training ensures that the science in science fiction is not lost.

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REAL VIRTUALITIES

The Plutonidians
The Plutonidians were a really curious species. Creatures of small dimensions, they were always active and aware of what was going on around. They never let go any opportunity to grab anything for themselves even the last thing thrown out by others. They did not waste a thing and were highly adaptable. The Mother Galaxy (which was just a symbolic name in that part of the universe to include a number of galaxies and other celestial objects) was full of surprises and because the Plutonidians came from nomadic intergalactic populations, these characteristics were not only innate but also indispensable to their survival and in the course of time these features became extremely refined.
For many generations now, they had undertaken the difficult path of settling uninhabited new planets, rather than living together with different species, as did the greater part of the galactic population, in the most attractive and famous worlds of which there were so many. Nobody knew why they took this decision, but since in the Mother Galaxy all the celestial bodies that were part of it were multiplying unrestrained in the most varied directions of multidimensional spaces, in the vast scale of things, it was so insignificant to be of interest to nobody.
Their settlement methodology was quite simple: they populated a new world and then they reproduced without control. The Plutonidians were divided into Ten Families. When they became too numerous, a spontaneous selection of younger members coming from each one of the Families prepared to board an uninhabited passing planet or to leave in search of new ones. As a general rule the new colonized celestial bodies were always called Plutonide, which according to the illustrious opinion of certain intergalactic historians must have been their planet of origin.

Many seasons had passed when a new choice of young Plutonidians was chosen for a world which was discovered almost by chance on the birthday of the eldest son of an ambassador belonging to the Family of the Lucomonidians, guests for the occasion in the magnificent summer villa of the aristocratic Family of the Plebieians.
It was a little planet almost hidden by the tenuous reflected nebula of Doga, which was in the extreme periphery of the constellation K2-EvE. A team of public technicians was quickly mobilised as soon as the news was out and in a flash they prepared the habitability study. A satellite mission was dispatched and the sensors quickly sent back all the necessary data to take the final decision. The information conformed to government standards, with just a couple of exceptions. In particular they noticed an anomalously high atmospheric pressure, but it was not too much of a worry. The other slightly negative aspect was that the planet was unfortunately not big enough to hold the typical ten settlement colonies. So it was decided to send a reduced youth selection. Contrary to the usual rules, they were chosen only from two Families: the Lucomonidians, who were led by the son of the ambassador himself, and the Plebieians who instead decided to send as their head someone without high family rank. He simply was a distant cadet nephew. The thing had no precedent and was not seen in a good light by some but, apparently, nobody was able to propose a better alternative so the small ships left.
To combat the only unfavourable physical environment of the planet, that is the high pressure, the individuals in the two neo-colonies were simply provided with a compact and robust armour to protect the body from the anomalous atmospheric force.
It is also true that the Plutonidians were very flexible and their bodies adapted quickly to any new environmental condition thanks to the intervention of the most advanced biotechnological engineering that had introduced into their genetic code special hyper-adaptation chromosomes. So much so that, after a short time since their arrival on that anomalous new planet, their head had undergone a profound variation. It had become smaller and had been compressed against the thorax that had strengthened becoming not so mobile… comical. They had almost become without a neck!
Where their physical response was insufficient there were two other famous and perhaps also a little enviable characteristics of the Plutonidians, namely, the lightning ability to learn (almost phenomenal) and their capacity for ingenious technological development. In this way they managed to adapt and exploit to the maximum the resources of any planet on which they landed. Just as an example, since they were completely vegetarian and on the new Plutonide the strong pressure inhibited drastically vegetative growth, they had found a way of extracting the vital elements for survival directly from the soil. From the time they landed, the grey cells of these intergalactic super-technicians were at once put to work. In the blink of an eye they thought up the most curious invention that Plutonidian technology had ever produced. It was a special mouth apparatus to penetrate the land and suck directly the nutritive elements from the soil. The internal mechanism was able to rebuild, as the chemical elements were extracted, the complex organic structures of the proteinaceous molecules necessary for survival. The genetic change, which had taken place rapidly on this new celestial body under high pressure, did not cease at the upper part of the body. In fact, the legs also became strengthened, as well as the thorax, in answer to the difficulty of movement and technology had again intervened providing the Plutonidians with a device that allowed an individual to do jumps of remarkable length. In this way they could move without problems and quickly. This extreme flexibility of physical adaptation and the exceptional technological skill in answer to the environmental challenge perhaps had made the Plutonidians the only true pantonaut species in existence.

The agreement for the division of the lands, like the anatomic adjustment, did not take very long. The Lucomonidians settled in the northern part of the planet while the other Family went to the southern lands. This also did not follow the usual custom of peaceful mixing within the colonies on the planets they populated as a way of maintaining harmony and homogeneity of cultures, customs and usage that varied remarkably between the Families. This kind of disorganised division of the new lands was the fundamental pillar of the famous Plutonidian Anarchy. The ordered disorder that it promoted was invented by their iron logic, not only to favour the cultural integration which was fundamental for scientific and technological advancement, but above all to forestall any possible social tension that might have developed, especially during the delicate initial phases of settlement. In reality there had been some attempts to 'organize' that wonderful chaos, but fortunately they had all failed.
However, since the colonists of this small neo-Plutonide were few and they still only represented two families, unfortunately that geographic division happened almost spontaneously. Finally to complicate matters more the Plebieian nephew, who was nicknamed the Cadet, stubbornly insisted on bringing a step-cousin towards whom his heart was feeling a profound attraction, which was without doubt returned.

Cloudio’s Connection

“I have finally realized what is the difference between Cloudio’s Connection and the other planets’ ”, said Zetana watching with curiosity her mother's bare feet running fast from one corner to the other of the room, while filling the table with all those things which were used for eating.
“Ah perfect then you know already how it works... so there's no more to ask” said Telio who had just returned home and hearing the words of his daughter immediately realized the danger of another question-time dinner.
“Actually... I need a little bit of clarification, maybe while we’re eating”, she replied with the wicked and disarming innocence typical of the Little People.
“Chera, why don’t we let her eat before us sometimes so we can have a bit of a relax?” Telio whispered to his wife while activating the small deflective shield, which they had secretly built to jam the Plasma.
“Our Planet Cloudio”, began the little girl with educated adult manners, while talking sitting next to her mother, “is one of the many, among all those scattered in the solar systems of the Mother Galaxy, that to transmit and receive information uses the Connection, also called Plasma or even the Plasmotic System”, and she added proudly with a louder voice, “but in Cloudio we have a special Plasma which is better than the one used by other worlds that in fact are more primitive... although I have some doubts”, she said suspiciously, wrinkling her nose with a lower voice.
“No, Zetana,” her father intervened promptly, “I can assure you that you have understood perfectly, there is no doubt whatsoever.” “But we…” replied the stubborn little girl, “we need that thing of mine that’s broken which I mustn’t tell anyone about because you’ll fix it for me. Instead people in other worlds can connect without needing anything, at least as far as I know.”
“True”, said her mother, “but they can’t connect to our System, and remember that our Plasma is much, much richer, while we could connect to theirs if we wanted to...”
“Then maybe I’ll connect myself to it”, Zetana interrupted her like lightning, just the idea had already lit up her face.
“No way!” intervened Telio abruptly who was already imagining himself before the Templar’s Council with the sweat dripping from his forehead while explaining his daughter’s incorrectness and everything else.
“You would get confused Zetana,” added her mother immediately, “also your friends would make fun of you, the Connection of the Primitive people is old stuff.”
And so the evening continued with the usual trying swing of questions and answers and questions about the answers that never seemed to end. But it could have been very dangerous to avoid those exhausting conversations, Chera used to say lovingly to her husband when they were alone, because if Zetana did not ask them, she could well turn to someone else and then they would have to run to repair the damage.

The problem was that Zetana was still too young and the two poor parents did not yet have the heart to let her know the truth. But everything happens, sooner or later, one way or another. Chera and Telio decided to let her reach the conclusion herself.
“Zetana is an intelligent child”, Telio used to say and he was more than convinced that there would be no problems and she would understand perfectly.
“Sure”, Chera had answered, “but remember that her emotional intelligence is equal to her intellectual one, and as you have said yourself she will understand perfectly, of course, but from all points of view. We must be careful.”
Thus they began with telling her that unfortunately they had not yet managed to fix that one thing that was broken. They said so looking very sad, almost crying, so much that the little Zetana to comfort them immediately said that she would do without it.
“Zetana,” Chera said gently, “we do not want to give you false hopes, but you will see that if we work together, we will find a solution and nobody will ever find out.”
“But are you sure it’s such an important thing? I mean my Strato friends do not ever mention it... and I've never heard of this thing that according to you they have and I don’t!”
“Well Zetana, are you ready to know something that perhaps your Strato friends still do not know exactly?” Telio asked, seizing the moment.
“Tell us then, I am all ears!” responded Zetana predictably rubbing her hands with delight.
“Listen very carefully, I will tell you only once. The first thing we will explain to you is what the Plasma is and how it works.”
“Okay” said Zetana squeezing her mother and father’s hands, greedy to know.
So, patiently, Telio began by saying that the Connection of the Mother Galaxy was nothing more than a complex system of data transfer. It was a large infrastructure he said, which was rooted in the intergalactic knowledge and experiences that were shared between those that had been the most sophisticated and advanced technological civilizations of the past.
“And as I believe you know”, he added cunningly, knowing his daughter's interest in cosmic archaeology, “the data processors of past times were many and varied.”
Zetana nodded happily with the subtle praise that reinforced her attention just as expected.
Then her mother said, “You must know that among those systems, the most famous ones were those that were using certain electric impulses to encode and to decode information.”
“You mean those ancient things that the inhabitants of the planet Earth called Computers?” asked the adorable know-all excitedly.
“Very good Zetana, that’s really a perfect example!” said Telio, “Systems such as computers were able to translate these special electric pulses into sounds, words and images.”
“And believe me”, Chera took up the story again, “these were the most famous forms of communication, at least in those worlds where higher life forms were similar to us. They were perceived by eyes and ears and immediately translated into the language of our body and so passed to the brain for their processing and interpretation.”
“So we for example…” and she paused a moment, “we understand the words because the ears translate them into a language that our brain understands!” exclaimed Zetana amazed.
“Exactly”, said the mother, “and these mechanisms of communication between those things... like the old calculators and our brain”, she pointed out, “are precisely the fundamental basis of the Intergalactic Connection or Cosmic Plasma, as it is also called.”
“Which then is a particular plasma”, Telio explained better since he had noticed that Zetana was struggling a bit to understand, even though the students of the eighth form like her already knew the physical characteristics of the plasma in general. “It’s a plasma”, he went on to say “made up of electric charges just like other plasmas, the difference being that in the Plasma of the Intergalactic Connection, as well as Cloudio’s, the charges are organized in a special way so that they can convey information.”
“But, it’s not possible to see the Plasma or even hear it... neither Cloudio’s nor the Primitives’!” exclaimed Zetana doubtful.
“Correct, it’s invisible to the naked eye. It’s a kind of special gas that creates chains of intermittent electrical impulses just like the computers of the past... but in the scale of the Mother Galaxy these impulses become universal codes of information.”
“Ah, but then this ‘Plasma’ - she said making a sign of quotation marks with her fingers - is a cosmic encrypted language!” happy to have finally figured out what the Plasma was. However, she quickly added inquisitively: “But if we don’t hear or see the information it contains, how do we communicate it to our brains?”
“Bingo again Zetana!” exclaimed the father proudly. “This is exactly where we wanted to get to.”
“See my child,” interjected Chera softly, since she was guessing they were already nearing the finishing line of the explanation, “the Plasma is directly intercepted by the cells of touch of those organisms which like us, they have learned to perceive the impulses naturally.”
“I see... so we feel these impulses, whatever they are, that contain information and we translate them into the language of the brain, so then we can understand it.” But immediately, acute as she was, she added mortified accompanied by the echo of a big sigh, “Now I understand, this is the one thing of mine that, as you put it, is broken because I don’t really sense any sort of information, in fact I have to always ask you for everything.”
So as expected, Zetana had easily understood, although this was only part of the story. Telio and Chera reassured her, and told her they had to explain some other things too but they would have to wait for a few days. They made her promise to keep everything secret, because they were certain to find a solution. Soon Zetana would be ready to understand the rest of the story and when everything was clear they promised her that, as they had always said, they would find a solution together.

“UÌGO, this is the third time that you’ve resat the examination. You can’t seriously think of becoming a reporter-explorer if you can’t get that damn pilot’s licence. You are too emotional and you know perfectly well that the small survey shuttles, for all that they are automatic, can’t be entrusted to anyone who doesn’t know how to manoeuvre in an emergency. That’s why they are entrusted to the Inanimates.”
“If you really want to know, it doesn’t interest me anymore to get that licence. To fly with the body no matter if real or fake is old stuff now. I’ve heard that at Sabao they’ve just created the first valid model of mental teleportation. It’s been years that our scientists have been trying to do that. It looks like they succeeded, it’s called HASAMAT. They’re looking for volunteers to test the new invention.” “But they are dealing with virtugames, are they not?”
“That’s true, but doctor MALÂSI has told me that this time it’s not about a game at all. It’s big stuff. Apparently they managed to identify and isolate mental perceptions, as they have done with thought and memory.”
“I’ve been doing some research in the System, and it seems that the Great Council of Sciences and Technology too has contributed to the project... even if not officially of course, since Sabao is a private company.”
“But can’t you see that this is all just nonsense? You know as well as I do that memory and thoughts are microscopic phenomena of our mind whereas the ability of conscious perception is... is a kind of quality of our cerebral matter, that’s it! It seems that it gives origin to the phenomenon of reality, but it is not clear at all. There are some, in fact, who think quite the opposite. But whatever it might be this famous consciousness, it’s certainly indispensable to the mental process. At least there is no doubt about that. UÌGO, listen to your sister... memory, thought and mental perceptions are three interconnected components of the brain, they cannot operate independently. To be exact they always work, like the quantic brains of the Inanimates, but...”
“Oh please there is no comparison! The Inanimates, are only super auto-evolutive calculators with an ersatz consciousness, their perception ability does not count.”
“Listen, to say it exactly like your dear doctor MALÂSI, ‘the brain is a personalised product that works only if it remains in the system from which it comes, synthetic or not.”
“OK, but individual consciousness seems to be the cornerstone and anyway there are others who say it differently. Be that as it may, I want to know more about it. Can you imagine PÎ? If really the psycho transporter machines took off, then each one of us would become the pilot of himself and so “bye-bye” to all these permissions, licences, survey spacecraft, rocket fuel and all the rest.”
“Oh my poor, dear dreamer. First they squeeze your brain to test their inventions and then they squeeze your pockets to make you use them. Sabao makes virtugames and that’s all, just get that into your head. They only have one interest: get access to your wallet and that’s it. And you will see, like it or not, when it will be the moment for them to change the game.”

I remember I was thinking over and over again of my darling little sister PÎ and of exactly that talk, which even then seemed so far away to me and surely part of another life, while I was getting ready to leave with the HASAMAT to meet the minds of the inhabitants of Gameogo.
I would have to reach the planet, synchronise myself with the alien brains and capture as much information as possible about the Gameogans and their world. So it was established in my new contract, the first one as Intergalactic Reporter-Explorer. I had a return ticket, and in my suitcase there were only my mind, with all its thoughts and memories, and my consciousness. I would return with a much heavier suitcase.
Oh it had to be beautiful to become a pure perception. Impossible to remember it, however. Just think about it, a sensation of freedom never tried or imagined. Without all that baggage of notions and information that, like it or not, we have inside our head, without that myriad of questions and answers that the thoughts suggest continuously. All those natural or forced associations, memories, sensations, fears... I really wish to remember the first time that the HASAMAT freed my personal capacity of perception from my brain. Imagine it. Suddenly finding yourself in a world without memory and without time, yet somehow still conscious. I believe it is an indescribable sensation. You know, so many times I had dreamt of flying like the birds of our old planet, wheeling in the vortices of air, running behind flurries of wind, diving into precipices and then climbing back to the highest peaks, competing with waves... at the end feeling free!
And so it was like that I was getting lost inside my amazing delirium, I was immune to gravity and to the mass of my body, exonerated from all the conceptions I had learnt and accumulated in my memory. Ballast, that’s was what they were, ballast that anchored me firmly to the ground. But in our dreams we know matter does not exist and memories become confused. This is why the idea of being free in the air was so different and almost inexplicable when I was imagining it when I was awake, perhaps really picturing myself inside one of those small survey spacecraft. Eh, the reduction of matter!
Unfortunately, opinions aside, when I finally did arrive on Gameogo, things did not go quite as planned, and I was not able to recombine my three personal mental components. Instead I found myself inside a real, personalized, tailor-made brain. I perceived with my consciousness, at least at the beginning. Later I was able to think, to ask and to understand with languages and schemes that were not mine. As for the memory, I could only remember a little part of my past, the most recent I believe, that one which I will tell you. The rest was lost. A kind of partial amnesia, I think. The Gameogans must have inserted some standardised memories inside me, I told myself, such as my planet, my people, our zègus. These were all prefabricated memories, perhaps the very ones that were administered to the Inanimates. So it was that I became a guest of honour but with a borrowed brain, which rather than doing the exploring, in an irony of destiny, was itself being explored.
Sometimes, in my solitude on Gameogo, I wondered how I would be if ever I returned to the Sabao base. How would I process all the new information with my real brain? All new data but above all so many new perceptions, which would have to become thoughts and ideas and that I, the dear old UÌGO, the one whom I left and who was waiting for me anxiously in the Sabao lab, would have to understand! But then, even if that were possible, how could he pass it all on to his fellow humans? I just could not imagine it, precisely how to convey an understanding of flying without a body.
It was now no longer the same as when I had submitted myself to the experiments in the secret base of Sabao. During those first trials the brains that I had to explore had been those of our people up there on the lunar bases. During those experiences the information which passed through the doors of my perceptions had not altered my ability to understand another reality and had easily acquired a meaning both then and later, when the HASAMAT had rebuilt my intelligence in the laboratories of the company.
When I returned from the first lunar mission, all that I had perceived had easily become part of my cerebral configuration without any problems. The difference was, I realised later, that my mind had simply acquired the consciousness of a reality which was, after all, familiar. It was like going on vacation in another zègu. You see, even if it was about new perceptions (because for example the lunar accommodation was quite different from those of a normal zègu of the planet) yet they were part of a reality to which I belonged therefore, it almost makes me laugh, they were ‘logical’.
Instead all that I have become aware of here on Gameogo has proven once and for all that one cannot assume. That’s right, we are so many in the Mother Galaxy, and even beyond to tell the truth, we are all the same from a certain point of view, but also so different. All made up mostly of vacuum, obviously, given the infinite distances between the atomic particles of which we are made... yet I tell you that the ability of aggregation of these particles, which then materialise on one world or another, or perhaps I should rather say in one reality or another, it’s different, oh how it’s different! The arrogance of wanting at any cost to see the rest of the Universe wrapped up in our own matrices of logic becomes almost... a comic thing. That’s why I was laughing inside.
But I’m not going to bore you with my reflections any longer, since each one of you will have your own. Instead I will tell you the story of a great discovery and the creation of an exceptional mode of transport, the HASAMAT to be precise, the racing car to run the roads of the Universe. I will explain to you how this invention managed to transport me, via a new field of force, to Gameogo so that I became the first official Intergalactic Reporter-Explorer of our History.
Still, as a precaution, I will do it from Gameogo, before leaving this borrowed brain. As things have not gone according to plan on the way in, I am beginning to doubt that there is going to be a return leg to this journey at all.
So I’m going to report for you my amazing adventure in as much detail as I can. Naturally I will try to do it like a real reporter, even if I cannot guarantee it since the Gameogans have done me the courtesy of procuring for me a handful of new memories, beliefs and knowledge and so I’m afraid that a little bit of this “new me” will be mixed in here and there for sure. If you don’t understand me straightaway, don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Maybe it will take a little more time. And if we never hear from each other again, I hope anyway you will have been pleased to have heard my story.

The Grey World of Meba
Meba was a rather graceful humanoid, always in a good mood. The big shiny head covered with various sensory organs, the hands almost all fingers, long and slender, and the body, delicate and light as a feather and all covered by thin greyish skin.
As he did each morning, after filling himself with synthetic protein soup and with news which was nothing more than ruminant sound waves, a concoction of the latest games, health and happiness... a kind of homogenised mental gymnastics, Meba slipped into his tight-fitting protection suit that was almost a second skin and then he put on his fantastic cellular propulsion motormembrane. He had nothing less than a Nebula550 which it has to be said was one of the most powerful among all the free-bioenergy models, given the high quality of the biological species of which it was made.
So, kitted up in his best clothes, you could find him already on the road, exact and punctual, always ten minutes after sunrise that could no longer be seen hidden as it was by the perennial plasmatic haze, which had totally saturated the atmosphere for centuries now.

Everyone including Meba knew that in the Past solar activity increased dramatically and tongues of fire and deadly radiation had put in serious danger all living beings of the planet. To protect the species, it was decided to change the density and composition of the atmospheric layers. So the dense fog that enveloped everything was nothing but a generous veil of protection that the ancestors had left to posterity. At least that was the official version.
As a matter of fact, the origin of that evil, and others that followed, is to be sought mostly in the structural defects of the main drivers of past societies, the Biologically Connected Supercalculators named Supercalculators-BC. They were built by the very great technological civilizations from which Meba indirectly descended. Unfortunately these forms of bio-artificial intelligences, even though they were perfectly capable of incorporating into their mechanisms pure ideas coming from humanoid brains and then thanks to their advanced electronics were able quickly to make the astronomical calculations to develop them, suffered from a fundamental incompatibility. The biological part could not compete with the speed of the mechanical logic, while the artificial part could not cope with the illogicality that was part of humanoid nature.

A long time before, it had happened that a group of climatologists using one of these Supercalculators formulated a mathematical model according to which it was possible to control the climate of the planet. The idea that had sparked off the project had been proposed by researchers who had entirely noble intentions and their investigation had consistently kept them connected with the processor of ideas at the Study Headquarters for almost a year. Nevertheless, the model remained controversial. As often happened in fact, despite all efforts, the team was unable to offer adequate resistance to the artificial reasoning of the bio-electronic brain on the possible global consequences of such manipulation. As was also common too, since the proposed methodology implied major involvement of certain big companies, unfortunately lobby groups acquired the basic design and managed to convince politicians in some smaller States to finance the project. These Countries just happened to be among those who suffered the worst kinds of climate. In less than no time the questionable theoretical draft which was put together by the researchers became an efficient regional climatic control system. Since the immediate observed effects were extremely encouraging, it also happened that other small States joined the initiative without thinking twice.
At that point, however, the most powerful Nations intervened not being able to bear the loss of control of the best climatic zones and with that the commercial monopoly of many industries. Therefore they ordered their intelligence services to cooperate with special bio-artificial intelligences of their own, in order to create another system capable of controlling in turn the newly created microclimates.
The whole world soon found itself in the middle of a rather unique conflict: the secret war of the climates! In the long run the consequences of such foolishness were devastating and soon everyone on the planet could hardly fail to notice that the colour of the sky began to look different, and shortly thereafter was no longer blue but gained a sad tone that went from an ashen gray tonality becoming progressively more intense reaching the colour of lead and then gradually migrating to the deep black of interplanetary space. The sky became naked and alone without the sight of a single star.
The truth was hushed up of course and as usual the population was “properly” informed. Many people, while accepting willingly the official explanation, namely that of the plasmatic veil, responded to this lack of brightness with a sort of acute seasonal depression, which nevertheless was easily treated with a simple transplant of special lab-generated retinal cells. These were capable of altering the perception of light, so that the daytime sky appeared blue again and the night once again scintillated with stars. Later the operation was no longer necessary, since the new generations easily adapted to the new dreary greyness having never known the ancient splendour.

So every day our tranquil Meba launched himself, wrapped in his Nebula550, into the chaotic streets full with the flow of humanoids moving in all directions, and after a short journey he reached his work place. The motormembrane was taken off and left in the company’s organic regenerator to clean up the apparatus of dead cells produced on the way and thus make room for the new ones, which reproduced themselves abundantly during the course of the day. Then methodically the insulation suit was slipped off and placed into the purifier to eliminate the organic secretions evacuated by the motor organisms of which the motormembrane was made.
Finally moving belts transferred that mass of serene joy to the seventh floor of the Orbital Same, where the company's main control room was located. This was the place where, for the rest of the day and for many years now, Meba and only he could perform the delicate tasks required by the particular nature of his job.
No one was allowed to enter the office with the exception of Res, his personal assistant made from very versatile enriched bionic plasma. Res slipped around everywhere and enjoyed himself assuming the most bizarre imaginable forms. He did it continuously almost like breathing... growing and then falling apart and re-aligning himself again, so much so that sometimes he almost annoyed his boss. Not that this bizarre bionic was a vital presence in regard to work, but for sure it was great and faithful company.
Meba was very proud of his profession and in fact he was sure that everyone knew that he held a role of great responsibility, even though he never talked about it, partly because of contractual obligations but also from genuine modesty. To be fair no one else ever directly or indirectly alluded to it, perhaps out of politeness, but as Res suggested, out of respect too. And he behaved the same toward others.
His personal office was large but furnished minimally. By contrast the circular walls were covered with video terminals. Many of these belonged to the working system of course, but the biggest ones, with the exception of a few reserved for the compulsory news, were all used for personal entertainment. Meba could choose any game he wanted and there were a lot of them!
The favourite pastimes of our little jolly grey fellow were the Gii-Quò07. These were part of a series that integrated space exploration games with ipsuons that is types of sound waves coming from special instruments which were capable of converting the player’s personal feelings into music. And when Meba threw himself into the Universe to discover new worlds to the sound of his own music he became an open book, which Res devoured so greedily that as the Gii-Quò07 was to his boss, so the latter became instead the private entertainment of that curious bionic.
The soft circular geometries were quite common in Meba’s gray world since the fine, delicate skin of the inhabitants willingly avoided sharp edges. At the centre of the room was the huge rotating sphere of the control panel, carpeted with a giant keyboard. Well then, his job was to push special buttons at specified intervals! Maybe for some it might seem that this job was banal but it was not so. It is true that in some places Meba was known as ‘Pushbuttons’ but sometimes things are more complicated than they seem.

The journey had been long and full of surprises. I think all those who were selected from the crew, including myself, to participate in the final phase of the operation were all glad to leave for the satellite and its planet and conclude this audacious yet difficult mission. Whether or not we would be able to cross the galaxy again, that was another question.
We left the main ship with a fleet of thirty small space shuttles, each housing two of us, minimum equipment and supplies. Captain Tuméng proposed to follow us with his personal ship, which “would be happy to get out of the hold and finally, like us, breathe in the scent of Space again”, he said. Despite not understanding that weird form of sensitivity towards a machine I granted the request to him without hesitation. The spaceship was large enough easily to carry additional crew and even some spare shuttles in addition to the normal equipment necessary to assist in the final part of the mission, including all the various components to organise the base for monitoring the planet.
We landed on the smaller of the two moons, which among other things was the one closest to the planet and also had the size and distance that we knew to be ideal in order to prevent possible drastic fluctuations of the planetary axis. We deduced that this world had to have good climatic stability, perfect for the evolution of life in the long term, which was excellent news.
From this base we followed the celestial body for an entire orbital period long enough to allow us to do so many other important observations.
One of the reconnaissance craft, launched earlier, had identified on the smaller satellite exactly what we were looking for, that is a large natural cave inside which we could easily set up the temporary observation base without too many complications. We had been using similar caves for some time, and with success, on many other missions. The caves were perfect for the purpose being already protected from meteorites, temperature changes, harmful radiation and so on. From there, with the help of systems and tools readily mounted in the temporary laboratories, we surveyed the most mountainous areas of the planet, selected the best strategic peaks and in this way we established landing points for each shuttle. The correct evaluation of the geographical locations and the height of landing were crucial to the success of the operation.
At the end of the observations, the amount of data acquired by our powerful remote sensing equipment had confirmed that the planet was alive! All information collected and scrupulously catalogued in the base’s systems would then be transferred to those of the main ship and these were the only 'prey' allowed. Virtual data only, nothing else could be drawn from the planet. But not only that, in fact even ourselves, the space shuttles and all our equipment needed to be decontaminated thoroughly before leaving the solar system for obvious safety reasons since pollen, bacteria or any other form of organic or semi-organic life could cause potential bio-ecological disaster if accidentally imported onto our planet. Nature evolves and multiplies and in a sense it repeats itself but not necessarily in the same way and the possible combinations of atoms are very many!
At last, once we had checked the equipment, we prepared for the descent. The devices that each shuttle had to carry served to create the necessary interference in the electromagnetic and gravitational fields to cancel visibility and in this way obscure the planet and its two satellites. It was a well-established method and the success of Obscuration Missions was essential for the preservation of life in our part of the Universe. The on-board equipment of each shuttle was calibrated according to the specific assigned point of landing. The one that I would pilot would descend at low altitude and I was more than happy about it.
The fact is that I rarely joined the missions in person and the few times that it did happen, despite having tried to be part of the final operational stages, for one reason or another, I had never been successful. There it is; I had never been able to enjoy the many alien atmospheres of the planets that we had saved. Finally the opportunity that I’d been waiting for arrived. Since the environmental conditions were quite compatible with our bodies, I requested to leave before the others along with a co-pilot willing to accept the uphill walk of the mountain’s last stretch rather than landing directly at the summit. Clearly we had to wear special protective suits and make use of a breathing system capable of filtering all sorts of potentially harmful impurities, but this was not a problem. The landing uniforms in fact were made from a material that made them light and practical to wear and the air depurator was a system as easy to use as it was complex. I have to admit having seen these latest models the designs and technologies used to produce them were being rapidly improved from mission to mission.
Finally I was informed that the co-pilot was coming. However much my ideas about captain Tuméng had changed during that journey, I would not have expected a request similar to mine to have come from him. True, I had, how can I put it, saved his circuits and since then we had become a little closer, but I was not sure I'd done well and in any case I had not yet had time to reflect on what had happened. I found him next to me in the landing-shuttle and I sincerely believe that on impulse if I had not already started the engines I would have certainly asked for a replacement. I really wanted to avoid a close encounter, especially since I had begun seriously to suspect in the captain a form of perception inconceivable in those of his kind. Although before departure I was made aware that this possibility could not be ruled out, I was still not too convinced and anyway I thought I was not absolutely ready to meet the extraordinary circumstance. However, I told myself, a confrontation sooner or later had to happen and so without saying a word I let him adjust himself in his place and we took off. We followed the set course without any problems. The calculations for this short journey as well as for the galactic crossing, both carried out with the special onboard instruments made specifically for this mission following Tuméng’s own instructions, proved to be correct. In a flash we entered the planet's atmosphere. We disembarked the shuttle in a clearing and it resumed flying on autopilot heading towards the mountain summit where it would wait for our return to the satellite.

We began the ascent. The silence started on the spacecraft continued along the way for a long stretch broken only by the sound of the stones that we moved, the persistent wind and, at least for me, the pleasant scent of the wild which was at times even too intense. I was almost pleased with those simple natural perceptions, they distracted the mind and made me feel alive.
In a small valley we sighted a native and we barely managed to take his form with the basic simulator before he noticed us. The being came to meet us without haste, almost if he were analysing us and anyway at least he broke the embarrassing silence.
Tuméng had inserted in his body an excellent communication system. He had previously demonstrated it to us together with a whole arsenal of sophisticated technological tools that he had brought with himself. This device in particular allowed him to put together, understand and repeat many combinations of logical guttural sounds. Fortunately the system seemed compatible with the idiom of the native and Tuméng effortlessly, as if it were really his own language, served as an interpreter. The aborigine told us, at our request, that he personally had never strayed too far from that valley but he knew about a path that others often used to move higher up, if higher up was where we were thinking of going. He indicated it to us muttering something that Tuméng apparently was not able to translate, but he willingly accepted a proteic bar he had clearly sniffed out from the beginning and which we were forced to reveal and surrender to him. Anyway, he did not seem too interested in our plans, and after wandering round us a for a short time, intrigued by our presence as a couple, “very rare among those of our species,” he pointed out, he decided to continue about his business.
Brief as it was, that encounter downsized our hauteur and we suddenly remembered that we were in an alien world and the native could have been much more aggressive and perhaps dangerously poisonous; him to us or us to him as had happened on other occasions. In the eventuality of a confrontation even a small tear into our protective suits could indeed be lethal and the simulation would no longer be of much help to anyone.
“The track seems to climb directly on this side of the mountain and then it continues along the ridge, I would suggest we follow it”, Tuméng told me after quickly programming the route with his mini surveying system. He then explained nonchalantly, more to my silence than to me I suppose, that the device allowed him, among other things, to detect nature and compactness of the soil so he was able to deduce that it was indeed a path trodden several times by the natives. I decided to enter into the conversation and I pointed out that it could have been simply the wind or other natural phenomena which had designed the path and thus the track was not necessarily the most appropriate. “Possible, but improbable”, the obnoxious mechanical intelligence answered me almost as a reflex, given that even living coverage was closely following the path, he assured me.
I wanted to argue but I restrained myself, I felt that words put me in too close contact to his essence, and perhaps that was his objective and in any case they would have been useless. He would have persisted in his hypothesis, perhaps his system was also capable of detecting the exact cutting angle of the matter that protruded sparsely over the edge of the track. “Intentional breakage generated by other living beings and therefore not random, caused by the elements...” I seemed to have already heard it from him. I made one last attempt to escape and so I began to follow what looked like a path. Correct, it was going down a little but it seemed more comfortable to me, I echo to his voice that was recalling me insistently pointing out that I had taken a wrong track. Useless deviation. In a moment I found him beside me again.
The low altitude had not altered the landscape which still appeared harsh and hard but yet of an impressive austere majesty and the life that had conquered it had taken faithfully its forms. After a while Tuméng told me that if we continued to descend then to go up again, according to his calculations, there would be nothing but to venture up onto a very steep, stony slope not at all pleasant and too exposed to that damn wind. Of course, as I was the head of the entire mission and no longer aboard the main spaceship, where instead he was the commander, he specified that the decision was mine alone. However he was convinced that if I insisted in staying on that course we certainly would delay our arrival at the top and those waiting for us at higher altitudes would not be pleased and so on. Who knows for how long he would have carried on if I had not interrupted him.
I checked the map that he handed me and, after a few attempts with the system to consider other possibilities, I could not but agree. So we recalculated the direction to return to the original path and we relied on the navigation tools. To regain time we re-ascended, and not without difficulty, climbing with hands and feet up the rocks that seemed to prop up the entire back of the mountain. Finally we found the initial path but being exhausted we decided to take a break.
The moment had arrived. An instant of embarrassing indecision and so I resolved to anticipate the first question that I was sure he would put to me.
“I wanted to personally come on this mission because I did not trust things”, I said without preamble since for me, as I have already explained, the silent conversation had begun when we left the lunar base.
“What did you not trust, Zuan? My theory on the definition of distance, the route I proposed to the Assembly to cross the galaxy and quickly reach this planet, the onboard instrumentation that I suggested to adopt... or perhaps the nature of my intelligence?”
“A bit of everything”, I replied without hesitation.
So saying, I pulled out of my travel kit a memoclonator, a kind of portable personal memory kit that we could connect with our brains as we pleased. It was a tool that we all used, especially for daily records since it was able to capture everything that happened, from the bare facts to individual thoughts and many other private mental notes. Then we classified this personalised mnemonic data and formatted it to be placed in special sections of the instrument. These were designed to collect long-term memories that we could revisit, select and play back at our leisure with the help of attached simulators. It was a great piece of kit, which came from a distant planet long ago but which had proven itself useful on many occasions and was widely used, especially in communications. I rested my memoclonator on a flat protrusion of rock in the shelter of which we had stopped. I did not want to waste too much time, I lied to myself, and to connect our minds inside the simulation of our mutual memories was the fastest way to address the issue. Tuméng smiled at me and while he was preparing his memoclonator he asked me with his eyes if I was really determined to go ahead.
“No problem”, I replied with indifference, “we have been accustomed for generations to absorb all that is contained in the circuits of the machines.” I lied shamelessly, I could not ignore it anymore and I felt a strange embarrassment.
“Fair enough”, he replied without blinking an eye, but his sorrow did not escape me as if he had expected a different answer. And he might have been right.Tuméng seemed not to accept his cybernetic nature and I think that was exactly the main reason for my quandary and my reticence to be with him up close. It was a confrontation that I was afraid of not being able to manage myself since, as I have already said, I began to have doubts about his real nature and he must have noticed it.
“One question...” I asked making myself comfortable as best I could away from the wind, “if we had continued on this path without deviation what time advantage would we have had on the others?”
“Let's say that, with the extra time granted initially to us for our climb less that lost in the diversion we are already pretty close to the top and we can afford a good stop and also the luxury to rest on the summit and admire the scenery, before the arrival of the spacecraft on the other peaks”, he answered me without even checking the tools and turning his eyes into the distance.
“So as I guess, it was not the native who suggested this track, you had already calculated it...” “Correct!” he interrupted me.
“Very well, an intelligence that can also lie then...”
“No, calculate, as always, calculate”, he replied looking down.
“Zuan, I think that maybe we will not have the opportunity to talk about this again, the return journey will be very challenging, you know what I mean... there are many vortices to confront, even if we now have good maps. We are now facing a trip that might not be completed... and I want to know.”
He said this with a strong and disarming sincerity impossible for a normal Rebuilt of his species. So I gave in. He was programmed to learn and that was all, there was nothing that could stop him. Of course, I told myself, he could extort memories and information as he pleased I was sure of it. There had to be many systems inserted into his circuits to suck information from anyone and anything, but he seemed not to be interested in doing it, as if he wanted to challenge himself with his bare hands. I let it go convinced that anyhow we would enter the conversation again.
“Very well captain Tuméng”, I said resolutely dispelling any form of perplexity and embarrassment, “I do hope you understand that we will play on an equal footing and so we will both know!”
He nodded with pride.